


Blessed Lands of Ferevs

by FanfictionConsort



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Original Fiction, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-01 14:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20259649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanfictionConsort/pseuds/FanfictionConsort
Summary: The background lore for my original setting, Blessed Lands of Ferevs.





	1. The Fell War

The minstrel’s voice took on a low tone as he looked over the tavern… “A thousand and twenty two years ago, the region we call Ferevs was much different. Tha kingdom of Stonesong was in but its’ infancy, the good king Gatte working to establish a new people in proper as his population grew. Sapblo, well same as ever, a thick forest of elven tribes and the occasional gnomes, but stretched an extra hundred kilometers further into the great plain, and humanity and the elves were jus’ a few missionaries sent from old kingdoms afar who were amicably agreeing that this wide-open plain was sorely uninteresting and that they might just put a small settlement here for the sake of pleasing their kings.”

With a quick flick of his hands, lights danced into shapes, weaving a scene of calamity bearing down upon fleeing innocents.

“And yet life was fraught with danger, despite the overall peace. A red dragon harassed us dwarves, each day threatening to fall on their fledgling capital and burn it to slag… Beasts pressed in on the human settlements, which teetered on the brink a’ war with the red dragonborn clan descended from that foul thing… who fooked that devil is anyone’s guess, ha!” The dwarf cracked a smile, letting his prestidigitation turn to two small bands of warriors poised to attack each other. “The peace was only kept by mutual hatred… and o’ course, not knowing if letting they guard down fighting each other would get them an arrow ta the arse from our forest friends!” He gave a jubilant gesture towards two elves at the back of the tavern.

He twisted his hand on the image and suddenly a black, flaming figure rose from the side, the dragonborn, elves, humans and all other lights shrinking as if paralysed in fear.

“Then… came… Rehli.”

He snapped his fingers and the black flame roared, a miniature army of demons charging past it and into the small figures before it.

“The demon invasion changed this land. Decided its’ fate to the very last. First we all thought it was just Gnolls, somehow getting over the sea from the old kingdoms. But when the high elves came looking for sanctuary from us dwarves… oh, we knew it was BAD.”

With a wave of both arms, a great tapestry of battles spread across the wall behind him, with all manner of demons overwhelming everything.

“The early battles can’t rightfully be called battles. Us dwarves marches right in and got taught a thing or two about tactics… The humans, we thought they were wiped off the map. Got pushed back to so small a stronghold they made gold dust look common. Dragonborn? Well imagine our shock when we find what everyone called in unbreakable clan gone, later turnin’ out to have fled to the sea on boats! And wood elves… well, nobody knows what happened with the elves, secret tree society and such. But I’d wager you lot were mighty pissed off when them demons burned down some of your trees!”

He wove his illusion different again, showing the red dragon burning a city from one angle while the demon army marched on it from another.

“At last, our desperate little alliance was backed into a corner… Heartshield, our capital was surrounded from both sides… we were doomed.” His voice trailed off, and he let the illusion fade.

And then with a burst of golden light, he threw his arms up and brought the scene back in force, to show a huge streak of gold impact the red dragon from the side, settling as a gold dragon standing over the slain corpse of the red.

“And then entered GLITNIR!” He yelled, fire in his eyes. “The first gift from the gods! He appeared and ripped the throat out of that bastard red, before bringing his own dragonborn in to reinforce our army and push the demons off… you heard that right folks, he was a dragon who actually got along with the results a’ his wild nights in bed. Oh, that was when the tide started to turn. He was sent here by Bahamut, because if there’s one thing all gods can agree on, demons can get on a pike or get out! We started to push the demons back out of Stonesong… and then, just when it looks like those fiends are mustering up a counterattack, ole Glitnir saves the day again by pulling a second army out of his sleeves.”

He looked around the room with a grin, switching to a mime of his own voice. “But mister, how do you find a second army?” He leaned in, grin getting wicked. “Well, Glitnir was a dragon. And that is how when the demons charged the pass once again, their pride and joy of a vanguard was killed in a matter of minutes by nothing more than some well-organised… Kobolds.” He cracked a smile. “Kobolds. The glorious bastard beat them with that red one’s Kobolds, a handfulla Dragonborn, and his own wit.”

“The war raged on! The Gold dragonborn and the Red went to each other’s throats, until the Dragonborn hero Shinz and the pirate admiral Redfrill struck a bargain, and united the clans. We shoved those demons out into the plains, and Glitnir flew round and got them flanked by the forest elves- let me tell you, another stunning victory.”

“Then the humans joined our fighting force, kept alive by their great hero, the first Pope of the Church of Refulgence, Maxine the First! She could have rallied a man missing a leg to run the length of Ferevs, so they say. Glitnir buffed up our army by finding some silver dragonborn, brokering them into the clan… and then, by some more of his splendor, got some blues too from down south! Meanwhile the human army got backup from oversea, the elves mustered themselves… we got into the thick of the war, and it raged...”

His light show turned to a conflict of immeasurable size, both sides winning victories and suffering defeats every moment.

“The forest hero Kori and our own hero, king Gatte commanded us through thick and thin. But the demons… were inexhaustible. We fought them for three years until we were all stretched to breaking point, and it came down to one last gambit to banish them...”

“The dragonborn built a huge fleet, and took to the seas to flank the demons. Us Dwarves… and those Kobolds… made a network of traps under our last great battlefield, the one that would decide it all. Elves brought out beasts the likes you can only dream of, and gnomes? Marvels of clockwork beyond your mind. But humans..? Well, Pope Maxine… she earned her title. She mustered all she had, and begged the gods for help, as Glitnir cast none other than Wish, to find an answer. Our hopes all lay upon this victory, at the end of a struggle so brutal it makes orcs seem soft.”

His image changed once again, to a glittering sparkle descending upon a kneeling Glitnir, four figures beside him.

“The gods… answered.” He breathed. “Five great gifts.” He held his hand out, and an axe appeared. “Nuschi, the Axe of the mountain, granted to King Gatte by Moradin, bless our great god!”

A longsword. “Balmung, the blade of the seas, given to the dragonborn hero Shinz by Bahamut!”

A bow. “Datrys, the bow of the winds, given to Archdruid Kori from the nature goddess Ehlonna!”

A golden flagbearing standard, adorned in symbols of sunlight and fire. “Refulgence, the banner of hope! Given to Maxine, by Pelor himself!”

And the man put his hands together, and conjured one more great image, of Glitnir flying before a falling meteor. “And a spell beyond the normal kind… Great Meteor, a single spell of ancient times granted to Glitnir by the goddess who oversees magic's upkeep.. Mystra. With these five gifts in hand… an arrow pierced Rehli’s heart! Nuschi snapped his weapon in half! Balmung wiped out all his elite guards! Refulgence made our army invincible! And Glitnir’s Great Meteor destroyed a portion of the land, wiping the foul demon gateways from our soil. All that was left was the blight where that foul demon lord fell.”

“Yes, through the intervention of Glitnir, the vengeance of Redfrill, the fortitude of Shinz, the tenacity of Gatte and all humans, the inspiration of Pope Maxine, the will of Archdruid Kori, and the gifts from Bahamut, Pelor, Moradin, Ehlonna and Mystra… Life persisted through hell here. Yer standing in a place that’s been through it all, folks. But we’ve been growin’ and changin’ the last few hundred years...”


	2. Dragonborn Clans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight into the nature of each of the clans before they were united, and the dragonborn within each.

The sailor sat down in his ship’s library. Despite the hundreds of years of saline air, the rain and waves, and every seaborne threat from Ferevs to the far continents, the library books dated back further than this ship’s construction.

Claws picked the first sheet of paper like it could turn to ash in a moment, and opened the book. An old, old book, hidden amongst all manner of supply records for seafarers that had died before he was a glint in his great-grandfather’s eyes.

One of Redfrill’s journals. It was faded, the leather cover cracked… but for anyone curious about his musings and records of the distant past, or perhaps looking for insight into their ancestors… He opened the first page.

‘I have been asked to start keeping a logbook by Shinz.

Those gold dragonborn might be decent at knowing when to stand up to fight and when to bend the knee, but by Garyx they can be insufferable.’

A scrawl in a different handwriting below read ‘Record the distances we have travelled, any conflicts between the crew, any parts of the ship that need attention, and any notes you want to leave to me if you are killed by the demons. The way you administrate, it probably won’t be too long.’

The sailor took a sharp breath. This was written by Shinz. THE Shinz, and in response to THE Redfrill, the two most important dragonborn to live around Ferevs in the last millenia. The conversations between them could surely tell him something fascinating-

‘Suck my dicks, Shinz.’

He turned the page. It contained some basic information that any sailor could record in their sleep, and little else. But on the page opposite, in more of Shinz’ distinctive scrawl…

‘Redfrill, and the Skullsplitter Clan of Red Dragonborn.

This clan of dragonborn are descended from the red dragon that Glitnir killed when we rushed to the aid of the survivors of this region. Unlike us gold dragonborn, they despised their ancestor, and rightfully so, for the Kobolds give an unflattering set of tales about him. It isn’t easy for a dragon to make Kobolds hate it that much.

They took to a life on the seas after the demons drove them from their home on the plains, and they are aggressively proud, unrelenting warriors, but despite that are strongly united together, mostly by mutual hatred but that is beside the point. I believe they will be steadfast allies in our war against Rehli, but I will have to be careful that the fights that inevitably break out between my justice-loving, spiritual people and his abrasive but realistic kinsmen are not allowed to turn into schisms that divide us.’

And on the next page…

‘Shinz. Glintnir Clan leader. Gold.

Stuck-up about rules, not nearly rough enough to be a good leader, kind of a daddy’s boy. Basically only in an alliance with him because he offered us gold and supplies.

And his dad is a nerd too.’

Scrawled below…

‘If it helps, I trained under monks to learn sixteen different ways of kicking your ass with my bare hands. I might not be rough, but if you want to back up any of your insults, you’re welcome to visit my quarters any time.’

There was an unusual stain on the next page, but suddenly Redfrill’s writings seemed a lot more enthusiastic. The reader narrowed his eyes. Yeah, that was a bloodstain.

‘Addendum: He still has his pride intact. And it turns out the gold lot can hold decent victory celebrations, plus they can make creative examples of the demons when we win. Maybe we can get along.

His culture is mostly about law and respect, but the golds try and chase after inner and outer strength, and are always looking to achieve new heights. They keep to themselves mostly, but a few of my warriors say that they’re very easy to mesh with when you manage to show your worth a bit. Oh, and don’t insult Glitnir, or Bahamut, or any of the other dragon gods apart from Tiamat. They’ll take it personally.’

The reader turned the pages a few more times, going through months of uncountable charts. He noticed a writing on one page, ‘Today, Glitnir said he would fly north and petition the Adamance Clan for aid. I do not know why he would do such a thing, as we are already struggling to keep ourselves united in the face of our religions clashing…’

A religious clash? He looked back through the pages for a few moments. Yes, Redfrill had sworn to Garyx a few times… the dragon god of destruction. And rebirth, but mostly destruction. That… must have changed, considering the entire fleet he lived in all held Bahamut as their foremost patron. He read onwards.

‘The matriarch of the Adamance Clan came to parley with us today, alone. She is compassionate, generous, and life-loving; she has many of the qualities you might see in a naive leader, but is stern, tactful, and charismatic beyond all question. Thank whatever gods still care that Shinz handled most of the negotiations, because I would have made an enemy of her within the hour. I only hope that her people do not hold the same distaste of Garyx as the Glitnir clan, or my alliance may fail and the demons will slaughter us all… how did our glorious people fall to such desperation?’

This had to have been written well into the Fell War. Everyone got desperate as the demons fought back.

‘We have sailed north and accepted the Adamance Clan into our ranks. All of them. They all feel some kind of moral obligation, which seems like a fool’s idea. Your only obligation in life is to yourself. Anyway, their influx of warriors and even a few new ships will go a long, way to keeping us all alive. I hope to challenge some of their finest to duels, both to test their mettle and make it clear who is in charge here.

After several fights, I can say that they are at least worthy dragonborn and know the value of one’s pride. And better yet, they’re not quite as devout about notions of justice as the Glitnir clan, although… I fear greatly that our worship of Garyx may soon place us in an unwinnable situation. I cannot cease my worship of the greatest of red dragons, not only for my faith in his superiority but for fear he may smite us, or raise my own clan in mutiny, yet I cannot continue it or it shall break apart our alliance...’

The dragonborn looked ahead in the book. It was all starting to make good sense now…

‘An unexpected stroke of fortune has happened upon us. If the elder I spoke with has not lied to me- a difficult thing to do when faced with our vanguard, then fate has given us just a touch more hope.

Another clan has left their home. The fourth in a matter of years, after mine, the gold and silver… The clan of The Southern Skies claim that Tiamat, hearing of Glitnir pulling us together to fight against the demons, tried to convince them to join the war in favour of the demons, along with a select blue dragoness. However, all of them from the dragoness to the youngest hatchlings are uncontrollable. They scorned Tiamat for even asking, for she has done nothing for them, and the clan marched off together to spite her further. The dragoness pushed them down that route, but she herself is reportedly happier not caring about the world at large and simply prowling the Thunderswift Plains.

I wonder if this is a sign that I should cede to Bahamut. While I am a paladin of Garyx, and have managed to tap into his power… he does not care for anything but destruction, and creating things anew. And I have always known this. I am but a flame to be extinguished. He will not show me special hatred for turning, and he has not shown me or mine any glimmer of true help or guidance in this war, unlike the clerics and paladins of all the other races I have fought beside.

Also, fellow chromatics make for better company. Finally, some people who understand life should be lived for personal reasons, and only preach about morals when you’re acting like an actual psychopath.’


	3. The Church of Refulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Information about the founding and values of the church that leads the Theocracy Of Demtid.

The priest sat down before the class he had offered to teach, on behalf of the church. “In the months after the victory in the Fell War, many of the nations found that some level of trust had been forged between them by the fires of war. Humanity in particular had been an indomitable companion and mediator between the other races, the large forces of Dwarves and Forest Elves, the united Dragonborn clans, and the smaller forces of gnomes, high elves, and others who had joined the fight. To this end, Her Excellency Pope Maxine sought to unite the races as much as feasible whilst properly thanking the divine gods for their intervention.

“Thus, our Church of Refulgence was born, named for Her Excellency’s divine weapon. We worship the five gods who saved us above most, but we all still ensure that we do not neglect the rest of our own divine patrons, and that our acceptance of foreign gods is not an affront, but merely thanks where due.” He looked at a boy at the back of the room, holding his hand up. “Yes?”

“What about when the gods want different things? Y’know, like the goddess Mystra doesn’t like magic being taken too far, but our god loves for us humans to strive for more understanding.”

“An excellent question! Her Excellency faced many such struggles when trying to make the religions of our different peoples work together. In the case of a struggle, then the matter is brought before our great theocracy. We will consider the matter as a human problem, and look at its’ importance to both gods. If we cannot find a fair answer, or a way that appeases both gods, then we will cede to the will of the greater god, and work to provide some way of recompense to the other deity, until they have been paid tribute equal to that which we have denied them. While we pursue magic as ”

He smiled a little. “Those brave enough to disappoint a god, yet well-spoken and wise enough to maintain respect are the most valuable people in our great church. Without their help, we would have shattered apart long ago. But I warn you all, children. There is a stark difference between one who denies a god for a good reason and one who does so for a selfish, avoidable reason. Our church can be demanding, I will not deny. But the great amount of divine power in our hands makes our service to the heavens more than worthwhile… and our efforts for unity have brought much peace. You will all find that there is not a human out there would would not give his life for the good of this church if it was so needed, and we will always demonstrate to Ferevs why that is.”

“If...” Another young girl spoke up, and hesitated. “If someone was to… go against the church..?”

“Then we would seek to change their ways.” The priest said calmly. “But if they did truly commit heresy, they would be beyond lucky to survive an affront to no less than four pantheons of gods. And we are divine servants. Us of the church will gladly become the weapon of the heavens to strike down the enemies of our religion. But set your fears of tyranny aside, children. You will find any church that can hold together four ways of life has much room for personal freedoms.”

“Now, to speak a little on our five most revered deities, and the religions they represent. Pelor is the foremost human god of Ferevs, and widely known and worshipped throughout all the realms. I needn’t say much of him, for my brothers and sisters in the church will do a far better job of telling of his glorious light. Likewise, there is not a dwarf alive who does not know the name of Moradin, but as you may not know him; he is the creator of dwarves, ruler of their gods, and a true embodiment of the race, hardy, just, and a master of the lands. I would gladly speak a prayer to Moradin or his pantheon, and burn incense or food if I required a divine touch when facing a task that needs mastery of stone and creation.

“But to move to a lesser known entity, Mystra. Her religious followers are less common compared to the other human god of magic, Boccob. But make no mistake, she is the more powerful of the two, and stands for the responsible use of magic, as well as its’ divine governance. It is by her will that the most extreme of spells can only be cast at a great price, to prevent their misuse- but that wisdom prevents us falling prey to our own ambition. Few are her true followers, but none are more respected.

“Then, to a deity somewhat infamous for his hand in many mortal affairs, Bahamut. Indeed, the god of good dragons, and one who has never shyed from proving that title. He is in support of any righteous cause, and if you are truly strong enough to call on the pride and power of a dragon, then you could not ask for a better embodiment of their best. His pantheon of dragons are not as united in cause as many gods, but if a dragon is in the graces of the Platinum Dragon, then it is in the graces of our church.

“Lastly, Ehlonna. The forest elves’ have their gods and goddesses steeped in mystery, but we know of Ehlonna, the nature goddess who did us an immense service with her gift. It has not always been easy to build a society in accordance with her desires, but our struggles are yet rewarded with fine crops and lush lands. Nature can coexist with civilisation, and if you were to follow her without scorning the other gods, then I think you would indeed see the good side of the wilds, and live with simple virtue. And of course, by extension, we can accept her, so we can accept the elven gods and their ways too- though if you seek their aid, you ought consider your manners and humility carefully.”

“It is far from unheard of for one to follow a god outside their race. So long as you never forget the ones who saw your species from its’ infancy to the present and honour them alongside the one of your worship, then you will always find the heavens provide your life with that divine spark it needs.”


	4. The Council of the Tribes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapblo does not elect leaders, or see them born and tutored. They arise naturally, and claim superiority as any forest being does.

A crowd stood around a great cluster of dancing Faerie Fire, in a great settlement in the midst of the trees. An elf stood before the fire, an elegant knife strapped to his side and wisps of smoke trailing from his wild eyes. “It is rare that any visitor is welcomed into the immense forest of Sapblo. Indeed, an entire orcish warband barely made it a kilometer in before they were reduced to food for the beasts. This is because despite the tribal nature of all our settlements inside this forest, we are united under the lead of one council of each tribe’s wisest, and the council bows to the authority of an archdruid, of which there are few indeed… the leading archdruid is determined every three years, by ritual combat.”

He held out a hand, and for a moment it was a tiger’s paw in the smoke, back to elven grace in a blink. “The Rite of Nature. It was created after Archdruid Kori’s death, ending five hundred years of the greatest rule ever known to the realms. In order to prevent the loss of our magnificent council system, it was agreed we would change leader as often as every three years, or infrequently as never- by the infalliable way of beasts. Each competing archdruid is to be put to the ultimate test of wisdom, strength and determination, and are tasked with combat in this settlement- the last one standing wins. Over time, the ritual came to be preceded by a small martial tournament held in Port Hope, to help the arrogant understand what it means to go fang and claw in the name of your people.”

Indeed, many in the crowd carried weapons, and more of them carried themselves in the way only monks do, immense strength wrapped in crystal-clear humility and careful reflection. The druid in the faerie bonfire continued his introduction. “Eventually, the Rite of Nature’s martial tournament became renowned as Sapblo’s great festival, and so for one week each three years, we welcome strong outsiders who have proven they can be given a chance into this place in the heart of the forest. First, Glitnir Clan’s dragonborn monks of the Four Elements joined us in this holiday, and then the human Open-hand monks of the south, and soon other fighters, barbarians, and others from all around came here to display and share their prowess and traditions. The only prize to be won here is that of a beast- reputation that will get you hunted. Now...” He grinned, yellow eyes and sharp teeth inside the cover of the illusory pastel lights.

“Let the Rites begin! Come to the arena when called, and may you fight like a tiger chosen by Ehlonna herself!”

Thus began a week of brutal festivities, a fighting competition renowned over all Ferevs and beyond… but open only to those who could meet the elven demands for respect of nature. And from afar, Archdruid Ria looked down at the arena from the shadow of the brush, a hand on her closest friend. She would close out this festival, fighting like her life depended on it. Rule of all the tribes was at stake… but she knew she would win.

There was power beyond compare in the bonds between herself and nature, after all.


	5. Gnoll Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few creatures are unchangeably evil. And when demonic influence is taken away, some can escape their old ways...

“Welcome to the gardens, you of strength.”

The cleric sat on a simple rock, amidst the grove of birch trees. Pale bunches of forget-me-nots and other flowers grew all around, and the odd marble column was host to to a hanging basket of faintly glowing blossoms or creeping grapevine. And as subtly as an overhead cloud, his _Speak with Animals_ spell completed.

“You are free to rest under the leaves of our blessed florae.”

The gnoll kept a hand over her bleeding side, and her crude axe drawn and poised to strike. She looked back uncertainly, at the stone archway she had walked through, and the seemingly endless blighted wasteland beyond, with trees rotting as they grew, grass withered and sickly, and strange mist that had guided her- and her alone, out of all her pack- here.

That place… was home. The power there, the demonic energy infused into the soil… it was her birthright, and every step into this alien garden almost hurt.

But she hated it. She hated her every waking moment, every time that she had a wise idea shredded by demonic bloodlust, every time she had to kill a pup for daring to defy her, every time that she only retained respect because she could kill things better than most. She was sick of her life, and there was no other way to put it.

“...Nothing is beyond changing, weary one. It takes great strength and no small measure of things outside your control to do so, but anyone can forge any path. My family has always believed that, ever since the first of you stumbled out of the Divine Wastes, your intelligence great enough to reject demonic instinct. You can change your life. If you couldn't? You would never have reached me.” The man smiled softly, but never showed his teeth, never made a wrong move. This duty was inherited from his mother, and was one he had always taken pride in- delivering the second chance to the deserving.

“I… shouldn’t… be here...” She growled, looking around.

“But why? Is that because of your conscience… or the demon influence on you? That unending scream for blood and destruction?”

“Demon? I… yes, the scream, the urge… it isn’t in rage, here… it’s in fear...” She muttered. “It’s like a cornered, helpless thing that knows it’s going to be ripped out...” With a wince of pain, and a few drops of blood, she threw down her axe. “Kill it… Kill it! Let it feel my hatred! Let me… escape this torture!”

The cleric got up sagely, and brought a hand to the wound the Gnoll was trying so hard to cover. A simple_ Cure Wounds_ wiped away any traces of infection and restored the skin and fur, whilst also helping establish him as something good, on a base instinct level. “Rest now, brave lady. Yeenoghu will hold no sway on your mind when you awake… Such is the nature of my garden.” Inwardly, he continued his stream of prayers, channelling all kinds of restorative magics, working to expel the innate grip on her soul that the demon creator of Gnolls had. He sat down beneath a tree, and watched as some kind of happiness crept over her.

“It’s… so afraid, so vulnerable… it’s become everything it preys on…” And she slumped to the floor in the sanctuary. “Can you feel it, demon? Can you feel how much I hate what you are, and what you put me through? I don’t care if I don’t wake up… I’m free of you...”

The cleric, Dalen Whisperer, waited there patiently as he wove his spells, in the rituals observed by his family. Redemption was always possible, and as long as the Whisperer line endured, he would see to that. No matter the deeds this Gnoll had committed… tomorrow, it would find a new life, free of the foulness of demonkind… and many who shared common ground with her in the Tieflings.


	6. The Holy Tiefling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fought against humanity in the Fell War, committed atrocities... yet they did not meet the grisly end of the willing servants.

The scarred veteran sat down in her room, memory drifting like an untethered boat. Her life was so near its’ end. She had children, and they were expecting children. Now she simple spent her days waiting to see her husband again… She shut her eyes, and suddenly, she was hundreds of miles away, fifty years younger, a sword in her hand.

“I beg of you… spare my men.”

He could not cry. If he did, it would be naught but an illusion, and all his hopes would be dashed. She kept the tip of her blade pointed at the throat of the demon. Rule number one of surviving- always make sure you can kill a demon faster than it can kill you. “Why?”

His breathing was ragged. The tail behind him swung weakly, like it had a mind of its’ own but still understood the situation. “We are the Tieflings. We… we were forced to serve the demons. I swear, we did not mean to-”

“To invade? To destroy village after village, taking outright pleasure in the way you displayed the bodies of whoever you deemed most innocent? Or laying curse after curse on us?! Killing my family?!” She shouted, pressing the very tip of her weapon to the Tiefling’s throat. “You tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down here and now! Why ANYONE shouldn’t kill you all on sight!”

“…If killing me would make amends, I happily offer my life. I just...” He managed to meet the gaze of the paladin. “I know. We know everything we did. Every atrocity and betrayal. For a leader like me, death is a mercy. But I won’t condemn my people. They’re nothing but slaves, and-” He had to stop, as his neck was pricked by the sword.

  
“Not. Good. Enough.” She hissed. War alone was monstrous, but the demons… the images that she recalled, of even children ripped apart and hoisted on wooden stakes to try and demoralize her army…

“...I will do anything. Anything. I will march into the heavens or hells themselves if it can save us. Gods know it will be easier than bearing this guilt.”

“Then do so. Prove the truth of your claim!”

He sighed, and slowly, delicately, drew out a dagger. A fine thing of black steel, with a wicked serrated edge. “I… know that my failings have cost us all everything. My people and yours. So I will atone. When my soul reaches the Nine Hells… It will fight. It will not rest until it kills Asmodeus, he who made us this way, or is destroyed utterly.” He put the knife to his own throat. “I offer you the only thing a wretched demon can. A bargain. My soul, for the lives of my people. I will bind myself utterly, once again.”

“...” She frowned, snarled even. She raised her sword, and as quick as a whip brought it down.

The dagger went spinning into the soft soil, without so much as a scratch on his finger. “Paladins don’t deal in souls. Get the fuck up, come with me, and let Pelor be the judge of your intentions.”

She sighed, and her memory flowed forwards. That tiefling leader stood before the high priests and generals of the entire army. And they had all lost more than her. Seen more than her.

“The answer is quite simple. He does not lie, for there is no magic that can confound Pelor’s light.” Maxine stood at the front. “Indeed, his race were as much victims in this as mine. For no fault of their own, they have died in droves to no avail. No good follower of justice could strike them down, and they have made not the smallest hint to betray our trust, even in the face of book and blade. Can anyone in the room deny such a thing?”

There was an uneasy silence.

“You all more than deserve the world, my people. But to exact revenge on this fallen race would do naught but leave the demons laughing in glee at our stupidity!” She proclaimed, tapping the butt of her holy banner on the floor.

“You to whom fate has been unkind...” She reached down. “Forsake the demons. Call upon the good name of Pelor, and let his light be proof of your peoples’ innocence.”

He looked terrified. They all did. The dying woman lying in her bed supposed that that must have been because they never knew anything but darkness and a life forsaken by light. In the moment, she had believed with all her heart that they were truly evil and this was to be her hour of vengenace, regardless of Maxine’s words.

Yet true to everything she’d said… As the Tiefling knelt and prayed for deliverance, light seemed to grow in intensity around him. “...Please. Please, save my people.”

He cried out in pain, and the light faded. She reached for her sword. The soldier behind her put a hand on her blade, and pointed.

The Tiefling’s hand was branded with a symbol of the sun.

She couldn’t recall everything past that day. Maxine saw that the faith did not persecute the Tieflings, but theirs was a hard lot in life… thanks to the anger of her and so many others. Putting aside the bad blood… and of course, overcoming the new divides as both races passed on to their next generations… both were nearly impossible tasks.

But, just perhaps, on that day on the battlefield so long ago, she’d managed to do something that she truly did stand by as much as Pelor himself. A decision taken wisely and in faith, instead of flame and fury.


	7. A Hero Kobold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kobolds are those who changed the most in a millenia... well, some of them.

It was rare that an adventurer felt any kind of fear at the word ‘Kobold’, unless the word ‘Dragon’ was in close proximity. It was rarer still that one would feel inspired by a four foot tall lizard built like a ratty birds’ nest.

But the simple fact was that he’d spoken with the towns’ trade guild to see about getting some escorts to Heartshield in case the Manticores or worse, _bandits_ came for him, and the man had taken him to the nearest inn and shouted “I HAVE SHINY METAL!”

To skip ahead a little, he had a strange amount of faith in the fact he’d hired ten armed, organised guards for only fifty gold pieces. Especially since they had actually seen off the bandit attack with relative ease. And spotted the trap the moment they rounded the corner.

“You Kobolds certainly aren’t like any we know of...” He commented, watching the leader of the group actually take a moment to speak a prayer to Bahamut. 

Three of them responded at once. “We’re better, right?” “We found the best dragon!” “We learned about dwarves and how they make metals!”

They all looked amongst each other glancingly. The one who had actually said a prayer earlier looked back. “We used to serve a red dragon, about… well, ages ago! Even the great wyrms don’t remember that time. But basically, Glitnir got us to follow him instead and got us to ally with the dwarves, and...” They fiddled with their cloak sheepishly. “Well, the dwarves give us way more food, and dragonborn are still pretty attractive even if they’re not dragons.”

“But you managed to hold together an alliance with the dwarves?” Asked the trader, as his horses cantered along. “Where I’m from, it’s just such a culture of meek thieves and jealous, petty killers amongst kobolds that… well, you might see a good one once in your lifetime. But otherwise it just means you’re too close to a dragon’s lair. You’re all… well, you’re all good people.”

“Well, uh… we probably wouldn’t have been able to overcome all that stuff if it wasn’t for our great hero.”

“Great hero?”

“Scaleface!” Five of them supplied at once.

The paladin-kobold beamed. “He was our first king! And he made all the other races like us enough not to kick us out while we were being taught about stuff like stealing and murder and being naked outside your room.”

The merchant raised an eyebrow. “And what… did he do?”

“We have no idea!” He cheerfully supplied. “Well, at least about charming all the other races. But he led us all against the other things that the red dragon served, and with his pokey stick and his draconic protection, he helped us not get totally slaughtered by demons, along with all our traps!”

Another one piped up, as he struggled with reloading his crossbow. “Hey, I heard he was a super quick study about all the other creatures. That’s how he knew how to act and convince them to give us enough time to adapt!”

A different one chewed on a copper piece, sitting atop the wagon. “Didn’t he find out that the dragons themselves have gods?”

  
The paladin lit up. “Yes! He did! And Bahamut really helped us change too. He’s… a real god. Not just a super-powerful dragon. Because of his will, we didn’t collapse into… whatever the others collapsed into.”

“Others?” The merchant asked.

The paladin nodded gravely. “...Not all of us united. Some of us still believed in the red dragon, and rejected Scaleface and Bahamut. We threw them out because we were told it was wrong to kill without a good reason, but… we really should have killed them. They’ve always done evil things, and threatened to get all kobolds branded evil and put us in a war with the dwarves. Us Kobolds are tricky and hard to conquer, but…” He looked ahead. “We can’t win a whole war against the dwarves. So we try really hard to kill any kobold bandits.”

The merchant shrugged, and mulled over the situation. “...Right. I suppose things aren’t always easy. But there are times you just have to do what has to be done.”

“Oh, killing them is easy.” Said the paladin. “There’s a reason dragons like us as servants! We are actually cold-blooded, underhanded, ruthless killers, and we really don’t feel much about most creatures. Seriously, if it wasn’t for Bahamut and the Church teaching us stuff like mercy, we’d probably have taken over the kobold world by now to spread their name!” He said, a hint of sarcasm bleeding into his words. “Yeah, crusading is pretty great until you realise it’s a bit difficult. I mean Bahamut would be fine with killing Tiamat’s followers, but the Church, uh… doesn’t want to fund us, and you know, you might get invaded by dwarves and probably humans if you go on the warpath.”

“...” The merchant just focused on the road.

“Anyway, have you ever been to the ports when the Glitnir clan come in? They have some elite fighters in every expedition on land, and you should see the muscles on those ones, total dreamboats!” He continued, changing the subject as innocently as a stripper.


	8. The Abandoned Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insight into the worst mining disaster ever suffered by Stonesong, over three hundred years ago.

King Vangr Jole looked at the report. He looked at the messenger. He looked at the report again. A blood vein swelled on his forehead, and his grip on the throne became so tight the metal started to bend.

“This is… preposterous. An error in transcription. Surely.” He said through tight lips. 

The messenger could do nothing but timidly shake his head.

The king looked at the paper in disbelief. “Look, sonny, I know I might seem like some stuffy king, but I know my mining. We did not suffer this many casualties. We are children of the stone! A little poison gas is an excuse for another ale! A lot of it, a reason to spend the day off work!” He said angrily, before pointing at the letter, slamming it to the abused wooden table. “So explain to me WHY I am receiving a report that says a gas vein has killed an entire mine’s worth of workers!”

The messenger quivered.

“SPEAK UP BEFORE I TAKE NUSCHI TO YOUR NECK!”

“I… I don’t know what happened!” He stammered. “Only the ones outside the mine survived! Anyone else who went in was okay for a few minutes but then got awfully sick, or so I’m told!”

“Rrrrgh… Damn it!” He slammed the table again. “DAMN IT!” He slumped. “Right, cancel operations in the area. Immediately. If that gas is bad enough to kill a dwarf outright, then we can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“Y-your majesty? I...” The messenger cowered.

“AJDUTANT, CANCEL THE DAMN MINING OPERATIONS TO THE EAST!” Yelled the king, as he looked at the report in despair. It was an unthinkable slip of paper. Well over a thousand good, hard-working dwarves lost in a matter of minutes. His best, most profitable mithril mine written off as unusable in the same timeframe. More of whatever toxic air that was could be hiding in any of his hills, waiting to strike again.

And the political humiliation…. He looked at it again. Yes, the nobles in charge had covered their tracks impeccably, assuming they’d made any mistake in the first place. Any flaw in the system that had allowed this would come back to hit him, and his name would be the one associated with this travesty.

There was the sound of footsteps. “Dad! Father!”

“Not now, Agarre...” He looked up with tired eyes. “...Oh, damn it all. You’ll find out within the hour. The mithril mine has… tapped into… Oh, I just can’t believe it myself. It says a poison gas killed every man and woman inside the mine. Every last one.”

“But that’s...”

“Ridiculous. Stupid. I know… but the noble houses know better than to joke with me.” He pulled out a quill pen. “...This is going to be a black mark on our history… let it be a lesson to you, son. Fate can be cruel.”


	9. Tearsoaked Coronation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new pope is always elected to preside over the funeral of the last... And before ascending to supreme authority, approved by the ruling council.

It was a rainy day as Pope Yew IX was laid to rest. Scores of guards, priests, and even clerics and paladins lined the streets as the hearse moved along them, each and every one holding his or her holy symbol over their heart. The water from the sky made it impossible to see tears amongst the crowd, as they looked at the procession with unblinking sorrow.

The next Pope had been elected within the day, as it had always been. He was to preside over the funeral, as the only cleric of enough prestige in all Ferevs… Yet still not of great enough influence to call life back to a man who had died and allowed his soul to depart to Pelor’s side. Elroy VI’s robes were soaked through, clinging to his skin as her read out the memorial, and seven figures clad in the finest of robes and garments stood behind him; the ruling council who had elected him as the most devout, wise cleric in all the city.

“We, your humble servants, beg of you, Pelor… may this holy man find life eternal in your light...” Elroy intoned. “...I did not know him personally, but I know of his deeds as well as any other. Yew was beyond reproach! An exemplar of what it means to be a leader, one who honoured the gods to the very last, and a truly kind man!” He put his hands over his chest. “I make this vow to you, O divine Pelor, regal Bahamut, great Moradin, graceful Ehlonna… I will take up the mantle of a leader, of a pope, of a good man. I will not fail. Glory be unto you, unto light, and unto our sacred church!”

The Martial Lord held her family’s treasured Holy Avenger, elven frame graceful enough to convey her sorrowful rage without a word or a sound. But now was her time to speak… “Elroy. My blade is yours, as it was Yew’s. May he walk always in light, and may I be the one to see that light remains always upon Ferevs.” A lady of few words, but her conviction and authority carried far out over the White Light District.

The Economical Lord stood there in a fine robe, pushing the very limit of what would be acceptable at the most important funeral on the continent. Ornamental golden plating was smoothly fixed to silk, and despite holding less authority than the pope or the man at the centre of the council, the subtle jeweling and fur trim to be found on his clothes left him looking the part of a king. Between that and his clear love for food… “This was a terrible tragedy, the worst. My prayers go out to my good friend Yew, I pray every hour for him, by the gods. But let me promise to you all that I won’t let this horrible event affect you all, I have lots of-”

‘Rest your ego.’ A message echoed in his mind for a moment, and the blustering man halted his tirade, shaking himself for a split second. “I am sorry for what has happened to Yew, please know that. I pass the honour of speaking to the good Civil Lord next to me.”

The watchful eyes and ears of the man standing at the centre of the council listened to the Civil Lord speak, but as always…

“I-I cannot say much that has not been said already. It is an unspeakably sad thing to have come to pass, and I wish that our good pope could have lived forever… but none can. All I know for sure is that he will be happy in Pelor’s light.” The man was as imposing and charismatic as a downtrodden carnation. If not for his raw intellect, he’d never have been able to keep his matters in order.

And next was the Inquisitorial Lord. “This is… Unacceptable! People, hear me! I will not rest until the foul illness to target our pope has been uncovered for whatever it really is! We as a people may strive for glory and strength, and so we have no place for such wretched foul play… or such sloppy security! Whoever is responsible for this… be they from a land afar or close to home, be they malicious or lazy… I will find you, and I will see you _corrected_! Let that be my tribute to the pope!” He looked and glared at the man to his left at the centre of the council, as if to say something more, but then he thought better of it and pulled himself back, dipping his head.

The Sin Lord was dressed in rarely-seen formal wear, nothing casual or suggestive, just a plain, finely-tailored black shirt and trousers. The man in the centre knew better than to trust him, but for the member of the council who normally kept to his own means and seemed to take nothing seriously… He was crying, and the only one of the council making no attempt to hide that. “I… I know, I am the antithesis to the virtues that you represented, Yew. It has long been my job to simply bring balance so we could all have… have our harmony without tensions, our devotion without elitism… It…. f-feels so wrong for me to be called upon as equal esteem to your truly close friends and allies… But gods, grant me just this one favour. May his legacy of peace, wisdom, and kindness continue… and may the prayers of us weak-hearted folk reach him, wherever he now rests.”

And lastly, the Infrastructure Lord… “I express my deepest sorrows, and my strongest prayers. As we all should…” Simple and earnest… and telling of nothing he did not need to. An accurate summary of the man himself.

The man in the centre looked at the whole affair. Enough paladins were gathered here to wage a war on even the great nations of old, even if they had ceased contact long ago, either collapsed, pushed back from their ports, or simply having stopped caring about Ferevs. It hadn’t been that way but a few years ago…

Thoughts and suspicions whirled inside him. This disease was damning indeed, but evidence was all too scant. It could have been natural, but the timing on a pope catching a strain of a fast-acting illness that somehow managed to persist through several Greater Restorations… such an affliction existing at all was all kinds of suspicious. The council were all swimming in their own schemes, with ambitions reaching across all Ferevs… but could any of them be the culprits? Was there even a culprit?

“This attempt on our government has left us all wounded. As the lord of the senate, I recognise the authority of Pope Elroy VI. We will build ourselves anew, for grace... and glory.”

That question would have to remain unanswered… For now, he had to ensure that the ambitions of others did not lead to the destruction of his own goals.


	10. Royal Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a certain village hidden deep within Sapblo... One that has all too recently seen a great upheaval.

Splitskin village was a hidden place. It had been for as long as anyone who knew of it had been. Those inside kept to themselves, following a peaceful shamanism and rarely trading a distant glance with wood elves or gnomes.

Each generation, two shamans would be born amongst the normal folk. Sometimes three, sometimes one, but normally two. It had been that way for as long as any of them knew. The inherent magic of the shamans would let them understand the ritual magics the village lived by, the gods they appeased, and how to protect the people from all harm.

But he was different.

He had always been certain he was destined for greatness, from the earliest times he could remember. The whispers of his god were all around, and his powers dwarfed the other shamans even at a young age.

He was only ten when he was certain of his destiny. He would be the one to change their world. He would cast aside this ineffectual system of shamanism, and unite them under the iron will of his divine lord, leading them unto greatness, and immortalising himself as both the first king of their people, and the most loyal servant of the divine one… The one who whispered in his dreams, affirmed his knowledge of superiority…

Only six months passed before the elder was found dead, killed by a spell more powerful than any of the shamans could hope to cast. Rumors sent the tribespeople scurrying about like their brains had vanished, and in the chaos he was there, shackling those panicked souls to his will, by carefully-crafted words, threats of death, and magic.

Things seemed to calm, but his uprising was growing beneath the surface.

It came to a head on the day of initiation. When the young shamans would all gather and perpetuate their rule of the clan, calling out for acceptance and leading the rituals for the first time.

None of them- adult to child- had predicted him. He was but an adolescent, a young fool in their eyes, eyes that couldn’t perceive the infinite wisdom that hissed from the shadows below.

Now he stood amidst the flame and bodies, before the silenced masses. Almost every shaman was before him, dead and burning in the fire they were to have danced around. All but one… Where they had gone was unknown. But he had been clear that anyone to so much as think of them without murderous intentions would join the war pyre of his royal line.

He had a long life ahead of him… but the construction of his kingdom started here and now, atop the bones of these fools.


End file.
